A Different Fate
by Dan the Zombie
Summary: A look into the life of Jiub, written from work. Will update as I can.
1. Begin

Jiub scratched his head and sat on his haunches alone after the stranger had left him behind. It was just as well that he was alone, he thought to himself. The stranger had been poor company anyway.

His stomach growled loudly, and he put a grayish blue hand over it in reaction. A gnawing hunger would soon be the least of his worries. It had been days since he had eaten, though the scars from the torture he had received at the hands of Morius Callis were starting to heal. Though he was innocent of his charges, Jiub swore that he would one day gain revenge upon the Imperial Watchman who had damaged him so fiercely.

With the memory of his torture fresh in his mind, the sharp pain of the scar that crossed his face from temple to jaw began to irritate him again. He closed his remaining red eye and gritted his teeth against the pain.

The guard that had let the stranger go returned to the brig.

"You, Jiub," the human spat. "I've got bread for you if you want it. But you'd best hurry, I think the rats may have started in on it."

Jiub grumbled, but forced himself to his feet. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he suddenly felt very tired. Even in his youthful days as an urchin on the streets of Cheydinhal he had never known such hunger.

"Follow me," the guard said.

Jiub steadied himself against the wall as the guard turned and left. He took a breath to calm his nerves, and then followed the guard out of the tiny storeroom that was being used as his holding cell.

His footsteps were made more unsteady by the rocking of the deck beneath his feet, and a swelling nausea crept up in his belly. He had been on the ship for seven days already and rode out a storm without vomiting, but for some reason the calmer waters moving around the sloop now were worse. His appetite lost volume as his nausea grew and he hoped he'd be capable of stomaching whatever leftovers he was about to receive.

"Are you going to be sick?" the guard asked. Jiub could tell the guard was just ahead of him now, he'd finally caught up. "I could get you a bucket."

"I'll be fine," grumbled Jiub. His voice sounded hoarse coming out of his dry throat. "You said there was bread?"

"Yes, and fresh water," the guard said. The harshness of the guard's tone belied the underlying kindness of his actions.

Jiub didn't complain as his eyes met the rusted iron plate with a half loaf of bread and the plain wooden chalice and clay bottle beside it. He used the last of his willpower to kneel calmly in front of the crate on which his dinner had been set and eat like a decent being.

"You eat slowly," remarked the guard. "You're not hungry?"

Jiub nodded and grunted through a mouthful of bread. When he swallowed he replied, "Hunger is a poor reason to forget my manners."

The guard seemed surprised at that answer, but remained silent as Jiub carried on eating.

Jiub finished eating and took a big swig of water from the clay bottle. To Jiub's immense surprise, the entire meal had been of adequate quality. It was certainly no great feast, though the water was cooler than room temperature and the bread was not stale.

"Put the bottle down and let's go," said the guard. "You're not to mention this to anyone, it's part of my ration for the rest of the journey. I'm trying to convince them to let you up on deck for a few minutes every day, but the Lieutenant is less than thrilled with that idea."

"I appreciate your kindness, Guardsman," Jiub said. "May I at least have the pleasure of your name?"

"In due time," said the guard. "For now, back to the brig."

With what little energy the meal had given him, Jiub stood and returned to his cell with the guard on his heels.

Jiub resumed his seat in the brig with his back against a barrel. He closed his eyes as the rocking of the vessel around him caused the bread to rise in his gullet. He resolved that he would not question the guard's niceties as long as they were offered. He was not known for his wisdom back in Cheydinhal, but in the courts of the White Gold Tower he was known as a gentleman and a scholar.

He reflected upon his transition from life on the streets to the high courts of Imperial society, and in so doing remembered his mentor, Balen Tong.

Balen was so intelligent, Jiub thought to himself. But he was also so perceptive; he had always seen Jiub's potential where Jiub hadn't.


	2. Reveries

Light shone on the tiny Dunmer's bedroll and the child rolled over with a moan. His belly was empty and the morning sun meant it was time to start trying to swindle a good breakfast out of someone. So far he had been able to get four breakfasts in a row this week from four different travelers – a record amongst the urchins that Jiub was proud to hold.

He sat up and stretched his short arms, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He checked to ensure that his small sack of personal belongings was still next to him, and pulled out the cheap bead necklace that represented his only link to his parentage.

As far as he knew there was no actual value to the item, but he kept hold of it as a reminder that he would always be alone. Each of the fat mahogany beads was painted in black ink with a thin Daedric rune, though some of the runes had been rubbed off over the years. Jiub sometimes imagined that the characters written on the necklace were his true name, and that he was a powerful creature waiting to escape from a pitiful existence.

He shook his fanciful dreams from his head and stuffed the necklace back into the cloth sack. He rolled up his bed and stuffed it and the sack in the bushes beside where he had lain. The day was beginning, and there would be fresh travelers in.

Jiub wandered out from the alley and into the cobbled street near Cheydinhal's western gate. To his disappointment, the massive wooden doors were closed to bar entry to outsiders. Either the child had missed the morning shipments or they simply hadn't come. He slinked up behind the guard on shift, an Imperial human named Ganthar Loudfellow.

With silent tiny fingers, Jiub managed to carefully untie the gold pouch on Ganthar's belt and slide it into his small hands. As he was turning to make off with his ill-gotten gold, Ganthar turned and grabbed Jiub by the collar of his ragged shirt.

"What have we here, Jiub?" asked Ganthar, his voice rich and well-educated. "Stealing from the Imperial Legion? You ought to know better."

Jiub stared defiantly at Ganthar, but held out the pouch for the human to take.

"Would a night in the prison cell teach you right from wrong, mer-child?" asked Ganthar. When Jiub did not answer, Ganthar answered for him. "I suppose not. But I cannot simply let you go."

"You cheated," Jiub said venomously.

"I cheated?" replied Ganthar incredulously. "How in the name of Akatosh did I cheat you?"

"I don't know," said Jiub. "But no one could have known what I was doing. I was quiet, perfect. You must have cheated somehow."

Ganthar took the pouch from the child, but retained his grip on the boy's collar. With a sigh, he knelt to eye-level with Jiub and looked him in the face.

"I want to make you a deal," said Ganthar seriously. "No more stealing or begging from you. But you come home with me at the end of the night and do some housework."

Without hesitating, Jiub replied, "No!"

Ganthar sighed again and looked at his feet before meeting Jiub's gaze again. "Are you sure? There's a bed in it for you."

Jiub looked for a moment as though he might reconsider. "No."

Ganthar stood up and tied his gold pouch back to his belt, making a show of tying the knot twice to discourage the Dunmer child from trying again. He shook his head and said, "The offer stands, Jiub, just in case you change your mind."


	3. On Deck

Jiub awoke with a start as something sharp jabbed him in the shoulder. He hadn't realized that he had dozed off, and the fatigue that still clung to his mind threatened to send him back to sleep again before he had investigated the source of the jabbing. Another sharp jab made sure that wouldn't happen.

"Get up, Dunmer," growled the guard, a heavy-set Orc whose imperial armor didn't quite seem to fit him. "Last stop."

Jiub stood and faced his captor, this Orc whom he'd never seen before, and bowed cordially. "Then I shall make my final journey."

"Damn right you will," the Orc muttered, and grabbed Jiub by the shoulder.

Jiub resisted the urge to cry out as the Orc re-opened some of the whiplashes on his back when he pulled Jiub out of the brig. The dark elf stumbled but attempted to retain his grace. Jiub continued walking, being pushed by the Orc until he had gone up two flights of stairs and onto the deck.

The air outside was cool, dark black clouds that were heavy with rain holding back the evening sunlight in the distance. The salty sea air felt corrosive to Jiub's skin as he emerged from below deck.

Jiub and his captor were met by a tall thin High Elf who wore elegant glass armor. To his right was the guard who had fed him just a few short hours before, though his face was unsympathetic and cloudy. He recognized the High Elf as Morius Callis, the twisted smile on his face dripping with sadistic pleasure at the pain he could tell he had inflicted on Jiub.

Jiub's ears blazed with anger, but he kept his countenance blank. He could not afford to show anything except indifference if he was to make it off the boat without Morius killing him where he stood.

"Jiub, how was your journey?" asked Morius. "I trust it was most pleasant, especially after your roommate vacated the brig."

"My journey has been bearable thusfar," replied Jiub.

"Indeed," said Morius. "Well that is about to change, Dunmer. You know why you are here?"

"Indeed," mimicked Jiub. He wanted to leap at Morius Callis and destroy him with his fists, but knew that he was now too weak to accomplish such a foolish task. "I am to be left to this barren island to starve to death. Only…"

Jiub looked all around him. There was no land to be seen for miles around the ship.

"Only that sentence is a formality," said Morius. His malicious smile was more insufferably large than ever. Jiub could tell he was very pleased with himself. "Guard, read the orders. We shall keep some semblance of civilization here."

You are the only uncivilized one here, thought Jiub.

The guard who had helped Jiub pulled a scroll from his belt. The world before Jiub seemed to slow down as the guard pulled a dagger from inside the scroll and stabbed Morius in the neck. Shock filled Jiub as he watched the man for whom he had sworn to gain his revenge grasped at his bleeding throat.

As he processed what he was seeing, the Orc behind him threw him bodily aside and Jiub rolled across the deck just as a large wave tilted the ship in his direction of travel. Dizziness and nausea crept over him as he rolled against the guard rail of the ship and icy saltwater rushed up beneath him onto the deck.

He tried to get up as the guards fought behind him. The clang of metal-on-metal and the furious grunts and bellows of two warriors were barely enough to be heard over the rushing waters that tipped the ship back in the other direction.


	4. The Fight

Heavy drops of rain began to plod on the deck as Jiub used the handrail beside him to pull himself up. He watched the Orc stab at the traitorous guard with a long iron blade and his well-stocked reserve of hatred finally boiled over. Adrenaline surged through Jiub's body and he charged the Orc screaming.

The Orc, shocked by Jiub's sudden interference, paused and clumsily attempted to block the oncoming attack. Beside him, the guard used his dagger to stab between the Orc's armor plating and into his kidney. The Orc roared in pain and surprise as Jiub bowled him over.

The guard lost grip of the dagger as Jiub and the Orc went down, the rollicking ship throwing him off balance and forcing him to take extra steps to steady himself.

Jiub caught the dagger's grip and yanked it from the Orc's middle, but the Orc was quick to attack with a strong left hook that sent stars blazing across the Dunmer's vision. Jiub's hand shot out and tried to grasp the Orc's enormous neck, but it was too large for just one hand so he brought the dagger down at the Orc's exposed face.

Ocean spray mixed with the rain to soak the deck as the Orc held back Jiub's striking arm. Jiub's heart pounded in his chest, the heat in his ears blazing now through his entire body, and he let go of the dagger as the ship rocked.

The Orc's eyes widened and Jiub released his choking grasp to grab the handle of the falling dagger to finish the drive home into the Orc's neck. There wasn't enough strength behind the blow, and the tip rolled off of the Orc's larynx and into his flesh beside his esophagus. The Orc choked and blood squirted past the blade and onto Jiub's face.

The Orc's face contorted into an angry snarl and he clobbered Jiub's head with his fist. The dark elf rolled across the slippery deck, the adrenaline draining from him now that he had been thrown away from combat.

Jiub looked up to see the Orc getting kicked in the face by the traitorous guard. The dagger, not fully lodged in the Orc's neck, fell out and slid along the soaked deck.

There was a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder, followed by the deep rolling bellows of the Gods' sorrow. The heavy rain intensified and the treacherous sea waters threatened to engulf the ship. The sail, still full, flapped wildly causing the ropes holding it down to creak and strain ominously.

Jiub tried to crawl towards the dagger, but the heavy rain drops made vision nearly impossible and he couldn't quite find purchase enough on the deck to crawl very well.

The Orc pulled the traitorous guard down with him and, with one hand held to his bleeding neck wound, began to pummel the guard with his free fist.


	5. Lost at sea

Jiub had no hope of saving the guard from the battle-maddened Orc. He glanced around desperately for some miraculous answer, but none could be found. An eight-foot wave crashed onto the deck and washed Jiub to the rails once again.

The dunmer reached inside himself, searching for something, a small bit of magicka or some idea that might win him this situation and his life. Still nothing presented itself, and Jiub gave into his despair. At the corner of his mind a nagging sensation pulled at his attention, although his hopeless lethargy insisted that he ignore it.

The human guard flailed pitifully under the gruesome onslaught of the Orc's blows. Jiub could see that his nose was broken and bleeding freely, and he doubted that the guard had any teeth left to speak of.

Jiub clung hard to the rails as another wave tried to send him sliding back across the deck, and that's when he noticed it: a tiny well of magicka that he might be able to use, some hidden energy that hadn't been there before. This was the nagging sensation at the back of his mind. He could still strike one last blow at the Orc.

Jiub leapt as the ship rocked to an almost vertical slant, throwing him into the air above the quarrelling guardsmen. Jiub focused his magicka into his hand and, just as his fingers began to spark with power, he was hit from behind by a tremendous force. The world went white around him, except for the Orc who was wreathed in black flame. He saw tendrils of electricity shoot from his hand as he had intended, though their colors were inverse so that they burned as black as the flames around the Orc guard.

There was a loud crack, and as the white world dimmed around Jiub he could smell smoke and feel intense heat against his skin. Jiub felt a calming peace of mind creep through his tired body as icy water rushed up around him and he blacked out.


	6. Lesson from the past

Jiub felt a tingling sensation in the palm of his hand, and he giggled. He had aged a summer since accepting a home with Ganthar, and was proud of the progress he'd made in his learning. Ganthar was teaching Jiub basic spellcasting today, and Jiub had so far been unable to tap into his magicka to do more than numb his hand or make the hair on his arms stand on end.

Ganthar rubbed Jiub's bald head and gave him a pat on the back that made the lone earring in Jiub's ear jingle. Ganthar had allowed Jiub to get one of his long ears pierced, and the guardsman's wife had given Jiub one of her brass earrings as a gift at his birth celebration.

Ganthar's wife, Merim, was plump and pale and she spent most of her time indoors tending to various household tasks. Jiub enjoyed Merim's cheerfulness, and was always happy to help her with the regular rat problem that she suffered from in her root cellar.

Jiub stood outside Ganthar's quiet Cheydinhal home with the guard standing over him. Today Ganthar had removed his armor and wore just a simple blue tunic and simple pants.

"Jiub, you have to find your well of magicka," said Ganthar patiently. "Focus on it and repeat the words I taught you."

"Those words are weird," said Jiub unhelpfully. "Why do I have to say them anyways?"

"They're part of an ancient language that was created by the Daedra and the Aedra before the creation of Nirn," explained Ganthar. "The language is what allows us to control and manifest our magicka, the magical essence that runs through all intelligent creatures."

"Huh?" Jiub stared blankly up at his surrogate father. "When do I get to blow stuff up?"

Ganthar chuckled and shook his head. "The possibilities of what you can do with magicka are limited only to your imagination, Jiub. You could heal people instead of hurting them, or you could make a flightless bird take to the skies like a cliff racer."

Jiub crossed his arms, unimpressed. "What would I want to make a flightless bird fly for? That's stupid."

Ganthar waved his hand in dismissal. "Look, Jiub, you're not getting any supper until you've mastered this spell that I'm trying to teach you."

Jiub's eyes widened, and suddenly he had motivation. It had been four seasons since he had last gone hungry, and had not yet failed one of Ganthar's taskings. Jiub had never wanted to test Ganthar to see if he was bluffing about dinner because Merim was such a good cook.

Jiub closed his eyes tight, consciously feeling around in his brain for the well of magicka that he had been taught was there. He felt a warm nagging sensation at the back of his mind and focused on it. He visualized the words he had been taught in his mind's eye and, as though gifted special sight from the Gods themselves, he saw small arcs of lightning shoot from his hand.

He opened his eyes. Before the short dunmer was a charred hole in the midst of Ganthar's flowerbed. Excitement filled Jiub. He had done it! He looked around at Ganthar for approval.

Annoyance was written across Ganthar's face, however, and he sighed.

"The target was that tree stump over there," said Ganthar, gesturing the complete opposite direction of his garden. "I'd have you do it over, but you're unlikely to have the magicka to do it. In the meantime I'll have to re-grow my prize melon that you just evaporated."

Jiub deflated. "Sorry, Father," he said.

Ganthar looked down at the dunmer child. It wasn't often that Jiub called him "Father," so Ganthar knew he must really have meant he was sorry. Warmth spread through him and he embraced Jiub in a monstrous bear hug.

"That's all right," Ganthar whispered. "You did well. Let's go have some soup."


	7. Washed ashore

Jiub awoke with his lungs screaming for air. He opened his eyes and regretted it, squinting instantly in the morning sun and gasping for air. With every exhale he coughed up salty seawater and a little bit of seaweed. He curled onto his side and rocked up onto his knees as he coughed, holding his chest tight with his arms.

The sunlight warmed Jiub's back as he torturously fought for air. After what seemed like an eternity, his labored breaths became more regular and he was left with an aching chest and a ferocious headache.

All around him pieces of the ship had washed ashore, along with the various detritus that came with a sailor's standard of living. Through the haze of his pain, Jiub was impressed to find his skin was unmolested by hungry slaughterfish. He pulled off some seaweed that had entangled itself around his arms and forced himself to his feet.

A mud crab scuttled past him into the lapping waves of the tide, and Jiub leapt at it. Frenzied with hunger and dizzy after his near asphyxiation, the crab looked delicious to Jiub's eyes. The dunmer splashed in the shallow waters and missed, flailing uselessly in an attempt to catch up with the fleeing creature.

He watched in dismay as the mudcrab's brown shell floated at the top of the waters and into the distance. Annoyed and disappointed, Jiub returned his attention to the beach around him. He realized he may not be alone and straightened his back to give himself an air of dignity that he did not deserve.

His only company was a face-down corpse, washed up several yards away wearing the torn remnants of a set of Imperial chainmail armor. Realizing that this must have been his savior on the ship, Jiub crawled on his hands and knees until he was looking over the corpse. He grabbed the body's far shoulder and flipped him onto his back.

The guard's face had a long bloody gash across it, similar to Jiub's own scar in length and depth. His eyes were closed, and Jiub felt very weak breaths coming from his nostrils. He was alive, although on the brink of the Other World.

Jiub closed his eyes and found his well of magicka. It had regenerated quite a bit while he was out cold on the beach. He focused it into his hand and laid his palm against the guard's chest. Blue light cascaded down his forearm from his elbow and into the guard's heart. Though the guard did not wake up, his breathing became more regular. He had sustained some serious damage and Jiub was no healer. This man would take a long while to get better.

A mudcrab hissed nearby Jiub and the dunmer realized that his wounded ally was not safe on the beach. He grabbed the guard under his shoulders and struggled to pull him up the beach away from the water. After only a few feet he faltered, out of breath and unable to continue.


	8. Deepfish

When Jiub finally regained consciousness, it was with another terrible headache. He awoke to a dark room that smelled of burning leaves, and he could hear the soft tinkle of wooden chimes tapping against each other in the wind. Without warning, Jiub's stomach growled intensely, and he placed a hand on his aching belly to calm its cries.

Vague memories of being discovered by a group of men surfaced in between the aching thumps of his headache, although he could not recall faces or names. They were shouting something before he passed out, something in a language he didn't understand.

The room was a small canvas dome with few belongings save for a pair of bedrolls and a single chest. Ornaments hung from the center of the roof around a central support column of sticks that were tied together. Unsure if what he was seeing was real, Jiub reached out to feel the wall, which was rough animal skin beneath his fingers.

He was alone in the room with the unconscious guard, who had been stripped down and his body wrapped in thick green leaves. Jiub's loin cloth had been removed as well, and for the first time since he had been imprisoned back in Cyrodiil he felt warm and dry.

Beside his bed was a tawdry outfit that seemed as though it would be too large for him. As the garb beside his bed consisted of more than a loin cloth, Jiub was satisfied enough with the upgrade in clothing. Yawning, the dunmer grabbed to clothes and began to put them on.

Light poured into the small room as a figure entered, pulling open a door made of sticks at the opposite end of the hut. The figure was short and hunched, and Jiub could smell it from his bed. The air turned foul with the rotten smell of fermenting vegetation, causing Jiub to dry heave.

"So you are well enough to sit up?" the figure asked in a voice so baritone, cracked, and cantankerous that he wasn't sure if it belonged to a man or woman. "Then you're well enough to eat. I was tired of feeding the both of you."

Jiub tried to speak, but found the words lost in his dry throat.

The figure approached him, the smell intensifying to an intolerable level, and Jiub was able to make out the heavily lined features of an old crone dunmer in the gloom. Her red eyes had paled to a shallow pink, though they seemed to glow in the darkness. She placed a tray in Jiub's lap.

"It may taste like manure," the crone warned, "but it'll keep you alive and cure you quickly."

Jiub nodded silently, and felt around on the tray for the food. There were no utensils, and the fare he felt was cold and slimy with the consistency of raw meat.

The old lady moved away, and the smell failed to decrease in its strength. Jiub did not relish what he was about to have to do. With one hand he pinched shut his nostrils, and with the other he carefully picked up a piece of the slimy meat and slid it into his mouth. Though he planned on immediately swallowing the hunk of meat, it caught on his tongue and he gagged.

The taste was like nothing he had ever experienced, at once the most awful thing he had ever put in his mouth. He knew there were curses that would leave less bitter tastes in one's mouth, poisons with less stench, and feces with a more appetizing texture. Straining against his desire to spit out the horrendous meat, he swallowed forcefully.

From across the hut, the crone chuckled.

"Be careful you don't spit any of that out," she said. "I can't always get deepfish meat."

"Deepfish?" Jiub almost coughed the word, his voice coming out raspier than he had expected.

The hag grunted. "You probably won't see deepfish. They hide when they see anyone coming. Learned to fear the depths from the slaughterfish, I expect. Marvelous for curing a damaged body, though they taste worse than a kwama's anus."

"Kwama?" Jiub's stomach growled greedily again, but he was not ready for more deepfish meat.

The old crone shifted in the darkness. Jiub could see her pink milky eyes staring at him from across the tent.

"Not from around here, are you, N'wah?" she croaked.

"My name is Jiub, and no," Jiub said, lifting the next piece of deepfish meat between thumb and forefinger.

The crone grunted again and went back to administering to the guard.

"Eat and regain your strength," she said. "There will be much to discuss when it is time for you to meet our khan."


	9. Around the dinner table

Jiub took a big bite of his meat and swallowed his mouthful. Merim rapped her fork on the table.

"Chew your food, Jiub!" she scolded.

Jiub nodded obediently. Ganthar smiled sheepishly across the table at his wife, who gave him a stern glare.

Ganthar had taken Jiub on a hunting trip into the woods outside of town, and they had killed a large bear. Ganthar had fired the arrow that put the bear down, but Jiub had disabled the beast. Ganthar had even let the dunmer youth cut the bear's throat. The pelt was being worked into a fine rug that would go in their sitting room.

Now they feasted on the bear meat, and Jiub had difficulty controlling his urges to gorge himself on the bear steak that Merim had cooked. The hunt had lasted four days, during which time the boys ate nothing. Ganthar had hoped to ambush a wolf so that his adopted son could win himself a wolf-pelt. The fact that they had stumbled instead upon the bear was an incredible twist of fate.

"The fall is upon us, Jiub," said Ganthar in between mouthfuls of steak. "There is to be a change in your lessons."

Jiub's pointed ears perked up and he chewed his food slower.

Merim and Ganthar exchanged a glance, and Merim put her hand on Ganthar's. The large guard sighed and put down his fork.

"You're twelve now, and it's time you learned a trade," Ganthar said.

Jiub swallowed. "I'll become a guard, like you."

Ganthar shook his head. "No, boy, you won't."

Jiub stopped eating, nonplused.

"You're too smart for that, Jiub," said Ganthar. "Merim and I have discussed it and it's time that you move on to a better home. Besides that, you've got a history of thievery as a youth so they won't let you into the guard."

"That doesn't make any sense," Jiub said. "I haven't stolen anything in over four years! Father, you must tell the Captain of the guard that I want to be a guardsman like you!"

"Don't raise your voice at my table!" Ganthar boomed, standing up. His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Only the Gods can decide your fate, Jiub, and you will not be some guardsman from Cheydinhal. You are bound for grander things."

Jiub was speechless for a moment. Defiant anger surged up inside him and his face burned a flushed purple. His red eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I know that look, Jiub," Merim warned, turning to him and putting her hands on his shoulders. "Please calm yourself. Understand that we love you very much."

Jiub closed his eyes and tried to regain himself. His hands were clenched tight beneath the table. Inside his mind, he felt the nagging well of energy that made up his magicka and the reckless desire to unleash it.

"Jiub?" Merim asked.

Jiub opened his eyes, releasing his anger with a sigh. Though his face was still hot, he could feel that heat fading rapidly as he looked into Merim's soft brown eyes. His own eyes began to tear up.

"Where will I be going?" he asked her.

Ganthar answered for her. "A scholar and a friend named Balen Tong will teach you in the arcane university of the Imperial City. I have not seen Balen in many years, but he and I practically grew up together, and I can think of no one better to educate you in the ways of Tamriel."

Jiub nodded, resigned to his father's decision.

"Jiub, please understand that I do this because I want a better life for you," Ganthar said. There was sadness in his voice, though he remained firm and authoritative. "It is uncommon for someone to be able to go from being an urchin to being a scholar. You have this opportunity, and you should see it as a blessing from the Gods themselves."

"There is reason behind all," Jiub said quietly. He blinked the tears from his eyes and stood up across the table from Ganthar.

"So you understand?" Ganthar asked.

"If I understand it, does that mean I have to like it?" Jiub asked him. There was determination set to his youthful face, despite the thin steaks left behind from tears at the corners of his eyes.

A smile crept onto Ganthar's face and he beamed at the dunmer youth. "Of course not."


End file.
